


A Half-Dozen Ways to Shut Up

by residualaffection



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Ficlet, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Someday one of these might have dialogue, every pairing needs mediocre porn right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:42:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/residualaffection/pseuds/residualaffection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Next in the 30 Day NSFW OTP Challenge, this is #2: Kiss (naked). It ended up a little longer than just that but don't worry, there still isn't any plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Half-Dozen Ways to Shut Up

Usually he just lets her moan. Sif can tell he enjoys hearing what he does to her, she can see it in Loki's eyes, that glint each time she fails to hold it in. Especially when it's his name she cries, eyes shut and head tipped back as pleasure pulls the air from her lungs. That usually doesn't happen until the end but she knows that isn't why he likes it best. Not the whole reason, anyway. She can't blame him; there is something about hearing her name - gasped in her ear, mumbled against her throat - that always sends a shock down her spine.

But sound bounces far off Asgard's palace walls and there are altogether too many people they need to keep in the dark. Magic could surely manage the trick of concealment, but it takes half the fun out of sneaking around. Sif can't recall ever having an actual conversation on the subject but so many of their decisions are made that way, discussion foregone in favor of unspoken understanding. (It works so much better than having to talk about things, until it doesn't.) And so somehow they have decided that they'll save the spells for truly public places, like the time Sif found herself spread across a decorative bench with Loki's head between her legs while just on the other side of the waist-high hedge Queen Frigga's garden gala carried on without them.

Sometimes they'll be in Sif's rooms, too eager to have made it far, pressed against the wall beside the door or tangled on the floor just inside it. She buries her face in his shoulder when she hears footsteps in the hall, bites down so hard when he thrusts that Loki's hiss of pain threatens to carry to the Three approaching her suite. She worries at his collarbone for the agonizing moments after they knock, eyes shut tight, breath held lest the rocking of his hips send a whimper stealing out of her to give them up.

She came once with him covering her mouth and she still thinks about it some nights, the sudden pressure of Loki's cool palm against her cheek, the fingers across her lips so much warmer. "Shhh," he'd breathed into her ear and Sif had bared her teeth against the backs of knuckles that tasted of her. She was too gone to notice the Einherjar patrolling just beyond their shadowed corner (the clank of armor and scuff of boots on stone, the quiet conversation about who had heard what coming from where), too gone to notice anything at all but Loki's voice in her ear, the hand half-stopping her breath, and the two long fingers crooking inside of her behind the pad of a circling thumb.

When they're feeling especially bold some nights she'll let him bend her over the rail of his balcony, lamps doused in his rooms so it's just the ambient glow of palace and nebulae shining off pale skin. It feels more dangerous than groping hands beneath a rowdy feast table or sneaking behind a column during court, the royal house's wing of the palace so quiet every slap of skin on skin could carry and every window it might reach belongs to his family, her lieges. 

The first time is one night after enough mead that they can barely stop sniggering at the idea even once they've shed their clothes to try it. Naked in the moons' light as Sif grips the rail and Loki grips her, laughter fades as breath speeds and it's a mingled pair of helpless groans that draws Odin out to investigate. Sif hears the door open and the All-Father's heavy steps across the stones above them at the same moment she feels Loki's rhythm begin to falter. His hands tighten and he plows forward even harder than before and it takes all Sif's will not to cry out at each sharp jerk of his hips. Overhead the king reaches the edge of his balcony. 

Sif flings herself upright, an arm thrown back to grasp at Loki's head, twisting at the waist and pulling him around to crush her lips to his, lapping the sound from his mouth with a kiss that's all teeth and tongue and her fist in his hair. She clings to him, muscles still bunched and heaving beneath slick skin as they quake together, he inhaling his own name as she breathes it, she biting his lip to silence them both and swallowing his shout with her own.


End file.
